Sunday, 4 March 2012
March 4th, 2012 #2
I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow at 10am I think. It's a follow-up thing because I was prescribed anti-depressants by Dr Wardell through my GP and... I don't know. I'm going to have to talk about the shaking and the anxiety and the weirdness with my mouth and blah blah blah. Usually I wouldn't want my mum there but I feel so incapable of anything that I think I'll let her do all the talking for me. It's nearly midnight and I want to rest, soak myself into my bed, enjoy the time I have before the nightmare starts up again but the laptop is still such a temptation. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my life any more and it really sucks. I never did have much of a clue but now it's aimless. I wanted to be a psychologist, study psychology at college, get an apartment and a cat or two, be in New York, be great, earn money, live life to the full. And now I get panicked thinking of being alive past my twenties. Life scares me more than death does, but the fear that I won't die and will simply be injured or paralysed scares me more than anything. If I commit, I want it to stick. No dilly-dallying, because that'd be the worst thing to happen.